Tangent
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: Teenfic. Vending machines have a vendetta against Mark and a handsome senior swoops in to save the day. How-Mark-met-Roger story number two. Preslash of the Mark/Roger Marker variety. Oneshot.


**A/N: Oh hey look it's things that I've had finished since like February but was lazy and never typed them up… See, this is what happens when exams are over and I have time in the house by myself. Marker feels. I hope you guys enjoy, it's just kind of plotless. :3**

Disclaimer: _I'm not gonna paaaay, I'm not gonna paaaay, I'm not gonna PAAAAAAY for the rights to own RENT! So I don't. Nor will I ever. xD_

**Tangent**

"Okay- what the actual fuck." Mark threw his arms up in a state of pure, unadulterated frustration. His foot flew out to kick the offending machine, but with a howl he immediately found himself regretting it. He hopped around on the uninjured limb looking, most likely, more ridiculous than he ever had in his seventeen clumsy years of life.

All he had wanted was something to tide him over until dinner. Just a small fifty-cent snack, and he'd be off to room A-207 for the weekly meeting of the AV club. But no. The goddamn vending machine had decided not to cooperate and now he was not only out of a dollar, but also a bag of chips. He would just have to wait until dinner…

The bespectacled youth grimaced at the thought, his stomach growling reproachfully. This was the _fifth time_ in the past month that he'd gone hungry and lost his money to boot. Someone should probably be informed that the machine was out of order before he had an aneurysm.

By now, most of the students lingering in the house after the final bell had filtered outside to their busses. There were no witnesses to Mark's little fit- unless you counted the shady figure leaning against the locker room door with a cigarette held between his lips.

Wait- how long had he been standing there?

And was he _watching_ him…?

Mark hesitated. He hated to bother anyone (or to approach guys like this one, who for some reason looks familiar and hopefully not because he'd slammed Mark into a locker once) but he knew that he should probably get to the meeting soon before the younger members got out of hand. God only knew what they were doing without his supervision.

"Hey, um- hey…" he began, awkwardly inching towards the slightly taller figure. The other boy cast him a brief glance, lip curling as he blew a puff of smoke from between his chapped lips and waited for the rest of the sentence. Swallowing down his natural aversion to social interaction with strangers, Mark plowed on. "C-could you um- I was wondering if you c-c-could um, run to the main office or something and tell them the machine is broken again…"

The other boy raised one brown eyebrow incredulously and Mark couldn't help but zero in on the miraculous shade of green of his irises.

"Why don't you do it?" he asked, snorting and flicking ash from the end of the cigarette. Every movement of his arm was accompanied by the soft sound of leather brushing leather, his black jacket crinkling and for no good reason Mark felt heat rising in his cheeks.

"Because I have places to be… and brats to look after. They're probably destroying Mrs. Ackerman's room…" Nervous, he pulled at the ends of his sweater sleeves and glanced towards the staircase.

"Hm. Well-" The cigarette was abruptly tossed into the trash can to their left, and Mark resisted the urge to protest what could be an enormous fire hazard. "- I don't think it's really necessary to get anyone else involved. That little rain dance you were doing was pretty amusing, though."

If it wasn't so gorgeous, Mark would have hated that smirk. As it was, he just looked down and mumbled unintelligibly.

"Fuck, I'm just messin' with you. Lighten up dude," the other boy drawled, rolling his eyes and standing off of the wall, sauntering towards his scrawnier companion. Mark flinched- he has been approached one too many times by various sneering bullies not to be wary- before realizing that the other boy's eyes were focused on the vending machine over his shoulder. "I got this."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do?" Mark asked, skeptically crossing his arms as he watched. Hands on his hips, the taller boy examined the machine in front of him critically almost seeming not to hear him. After a moment he nodded.

"It's not nailed down or anything- yeah. No worries man." Reaching up and gripping the sides, the brunet boy tossed a stunningly handsome grin over his shoulder. Mark thought he felt his heart stop.

He'd known that someday this whole bisexuality thing would bite him in the ass, but damn, he'd made it this far… He'd thought he was going to get through high school at least before he seriously considered it.

"You look familiar," he blurted as the other boy began forcibly shaking the large contraption. He only grunted in response, wrinkling his nose and then there was the sound of something falling to the bottom of the machine.

"Mm… Guitar, right? The café next to the bookstore. That's me," said the green-eyed boy cockily, mischief and good humor dancing in his eyes. He gestured with a flourish to the vending machine, eyebrows raised. "Roger Davis, technological wizard."

Though he couldn't help but smile back, heart fluttering in his chest, Mark saw right through the cool-guy façade. He knelt down and reached inside, expecting to find a random candy bar- but no. He pulled the bag out and opened his mouth only to close it again, realizing that it was exactly the brand of chips he'd paid for.

"Hey- how-?" A pause. He shut his mouth again and thought some more. "Nevermind. I'm Mark… thanks for the help." A sarcastic tone crept into his voice as he added, "Since you're so great with _technology_, maybe I should drag you to AV club."

Visibly wincing at the very thought, Roger shook his head. His shaggy hair waved with each movement- between the jacket, the hair and his calloused hands he looked every inch the young rockstar. "Yeah, I don't think so… I have an image, you know."

"Wouldn't want that tarnished," Mark agreed drily. Okay, so maybe he didn't actually have a chance. At least he wasn't getting pummeled. Absently, he pulled the foil open and reached inside, crunching on the very first chip his hand touched. He offered the bag to Roger, who just laughed.

"There are better things than junk food," he said, the grin on his face growing. For some reason he was giving off a nervous vibe, but Mark couldn't for the life of him imagine how _he_ was intimidating. Before he knew it he was being pulled roughly by the arm down the hall. His blue eyes widened so comically that his glasses slid down his nose.

"What- where are we going?" he squeaked, an image flashing through his mind: the freshman in Mrs. Ackerman's room, pulling at wires and sticking their unsuspecting fingers into electrical circuits.

"Don't worry about it. You got girlfriend?"

"I- well no…"

"Oh. Alright. Well, I got guy magazines too, but they're harder to buy with a straight face…"

Struggling to keep up with the sudden turn in their conversation, Mark's face flamed, staring baffledly at the other boy with the vice grip on his arm. "Wh-"

"I know most people- well, most guys- like the girly ones but there's always that one day when you'd rather see a dick you know?"

Mark couldn't help choking on his own saliva. "You- what? WHAT?" Belatedly realizing that he was still holding the bag of Lays he mourned the abrupt loss of his appetite. He had bigger fish to fry now.

Was Roger implying what he thought he was implying-?

"Seriously, keep up dude." Roger gave him an exasperated look, stopping dead and relaxing his grip on his arm. "Guys, girls, sex? It's all the rage in high school."

"But- but you said-" Mark stammered, blinking rapidly and wishing that his skin wasn't quite so translucent. "I-"

"You what? Come on. I fixed your machine. You owe me- ditch the little kids and chill." Seamlessly, Roger's voice shifted and melted and it was so convincing that Mark could have agreed to it right there and then. He did his best to stifle his excitement; it wasn't every day that a hot senior showed interest in him.

But the fact remained that he didn't know what _kind_ of interested; not to mention, he had no idea if he could trust him.

"What does 'chilling' entail, exactly?" he asked skittishly. With a huff, Roger released him and put his hands back on his hips.

"You were right. You recognize me." Pouting, eyes averted- Mark was becoming quite amused at how quickly Roger could switch from one emotion to the other- he muttered the rest of the sentence. "I've seen you… You come on Saturday nights."

Mark frowned, trying to recall. It was good to know that he wasn't just imagining things, but he couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed this cute, undeniably funny boy before, especially if he had been up on a stage at the time. How hadn't he been infatuated from the first time he heard him play? It just didn't seem realistic.

"I do… Roger…" he murmured, mulling it over. "Roger..."

"Davis," Roger supplied. A brand new light had kindled in his eyes, and now he was the nervous one, chewing his lip and twitching. "I, ah… I was kind of hoping I'd find you around school. I didn't want to go searching for my favorite fanboy after the show…"

Despite himself- and the fact that he, admittedly, was as far from a fan as was possible of the band that played on his Wednesday coffee night because their songs were awfully clichéd- Mark was oddly flattered. Maybe he'd never really paid attention to Roger onstage, but he sure as hell found him interesting here in the light of day. He kind of wished that Roger would grab his arm again, or maybe his hand.

"Favorite, huh?" he asked, teasing. He quite enjoyed the way that pink flush was spreading across Roger's face. That was probably what was giving him this newfound confidence. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Davis." Hesitation. Then- "But… sure. Let's go?"

Roger's eyes positively lit up, glowing. He snatched Mark's arm and raced down the hall again, and as Mark began to smile, tossing his chip bag into the nearest trash can as he was pulled along, he thanked God for cute boys and broken vending machines.

"I wasn't kidding about the magazines… Unless you'd rather go out for coffee?" Roger said in a low, unmistakably seductive voice. He turned to give him a smirk that sent Mark's teenaged hormones into a frenzy.

Those AV kids were just going to have to fend for themselves.


End file.
